The Funeral After the Funeral

“Anne, the car is here.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Anne looked at the grave, without really seeing it. Her mind was elsewhere. In dreams of happy endings, true love, and far off nothings. Without the man she planned to spend eternity with, her life would be a flowerless field, with no specks of color, beauty, or reason.
“Anne, really, it’s time to go.”
Anne turned to her sister. “One more minute....please?”
Her sister’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded, and left Anne alone with what was left of her love.
Anne’s eyes turned to the rock once more.

Robert Whitnell
April 14, 1983-
January 3, 2008
Loving Son,
Friend,
and Husband

She kneeled down, and rubbed her icy hands on his name.
Before he died, he told Anne to keep going. Even if the world stopped spinning, she had to move on.
But she couldn’t.
Tears fell in soft drips, which added to the rain, already pouring from the sky in large measures. She closed her eyes. Though it didn’t help stop her tears, it helped her better imagine him. She imagined him in heaven, on a large golden throne, as happy and handsome as ever. She imagined him in many places. Anywhere, except for in the hell where he had been living.
It was a shock to again hear her sister’s voice in the still gloom. “Anne,” she said, “the children are getting restless.”
“No!” Anne cried. Her arms folded around the stone. “Just leave me. Leave me here to die, with him!”
Her sister tried to pull her away, but Anne’s hands were stiffer than the stone they were grasping. The rain became heavier, and the air became colder. Her sister saw there was no easy way to move this broken widow.
“I’m taking the kids home, Anne. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Unfortunately, when her sister came back for her, Anne was in the same place as her husband. In a paradise, far better than the lonely world they left behind.

The End